Even with its back turned, the bird emits a kind of imperious attitude, as if to suggest it can build its nest anywhere it darn well pleases.

Put a Bird On It…Wait. No, Don’t.Fat Robins are jumping all over my yard. Teasing me. Making me as nervous as a deadbeat dude waiting for the results of a paternity test. The ticker tape running through my mind: How many babies will we have this year? Baby birds, of course. Before you open up a whole interspecies dating can of worms, let me explain. For years now, Robins have built their nests in awkward places on the Gregorific property. This has challenged us to do the responsible thing for the birds, however difficult.

Portrait of a Bully

One year they chose to make their nest in a purple wreath on my front door. As they built the nest, their little beaks and feet made creepy scratching noises against the door. Every so often, this noise filtered through the door, startling me, and causing my pup to go bonkers. I needed to take action.

So I donned gloves and moved the nest to the crook of a tree ten yards from my door. I scoped out the relocation very carefully. Honestly? I felt like Daddy Warbucks doing a favor for this young bird family. I was upgrading them for free.

And did they appreciate it and sing me a beautiful song about "Tomorrow"? No sirree. They rebuilt the nest. In the wreath. On my door. As if to say, "Deal with it. We like purple."

Then a disastrous situation happened when I answered the door to receive one of the hundreds of Lego deliveries that come daily for Mr. Gregorific. (Obsessive collector=story for another time.) An egg jounced out of the nest and landed on the front porch. The delivery person and I were like-minded, which is to say we were equally horrified. I got my gloves and put the egg back. (Don't worry, new gloves. I have an industrial-size box full.) The mother bird was hollering at me as I did this, swooping around and chirping threats about pooping everywhere in revenge. (She did. And does.)

The rest of that season we used the back door. It was awkward, sure. Telling guests was a bit tricky. When people dropped by, we would look through the window closest to the door and flap our hands in makeshift sign language, attempting to convey: a bird nest is on our door wreath, so we can't open. We finally made a written sign for visitors to please enter through the back door. It was somewhat off-putting.

Eventually, the eggs all (!) hatched and the birds grew slowly, so slowly. I wanted to harvest juicy worms and speed up the process but I had learned better than to tamper with nature. Or so I thought. This chapter of the story ends well. The babies grew bigger and louder and eventually flew away. As soon as I could, I moved the wreath to the garage, and saved the nest for posterity. Seasons passed, the story became cute with time. We went through the predictable seasonal door decorations: cornucopia, evergreen wreath, heart, shamrock. Then came time for the purple wreath. Spring. Fat Robins. Yes, they built their nest there AGAIN.

By the time I noticed, it was completely built. Vain with clever human-ness, I moved the entire wreath to the tree. I was thinking, you want purple? Fine, have it. But it turns out maybe they liked the holly bushes near the door to hide in, instead of the actual color of their abode. Because the Robins abandoned the nest in the wreath, hung on the tree. They rebuilt in the bushes near the door. This sparked dissension in the gregorific ranks. Mediation occurred. Boundaries were set. We agreed to co-exist with the Robins. Every time we opened the door, we startled the mother and she would burst out of the holly bush, and fly up to chirp-scold. This caused many a pants to be peed in, near heart attacks, and creative cursing by anyone visiting or living here. We ended up using the back door again, unless a certain person’s pride had to be fanned. Occasionally we had to concede: "Yes, you pay the mortgage, you can use the front door--just this once." Needless to say, that purple wreath has been granted an early retirement. Now we have a beads and bells wind chime on the door. Sure, it’s attractive to look at, but more importantly, it makes noise. Plenty of scraping and tinkling. No bird wants to live around that kind of competition. Case closed?

Nope. Case relocated to the kid’s playhouse. Now they cared. Because once the nest was in there, eggs laid, they couldn’t play in the clubhouse portion of the play structure. Suddenly, they were anxious for those eggs to hatch already.

It was the biggest, bestest bird house those Robin’s will ever have. When the baby birds finally hopped out and flew away, which we actually got to witness, we waited a while and then moved the empty nest to a tree.

See how many trees are around to build a nice nest in?

Trying to learn, we bought a fake squirrel and put it in the spot where they had built their nest. It waited all year to fend them off. Should I tell you how many times that fake squirrel freaked one of us gregorifics out? Plenty. Most of the time it was me. I'd climb into the clubhouse to make sure the gregorific kiddos didn’t leave their library books or stuffed animals up there *again*. I'd see a creature out of the corner of my eye, let out a shriek, and have to explain myself to the neighbors, *again*.

Freaky, right?

Turns out, "my" Robins are not afraid of a fake squirrel. They built right next to it, proving they were open minded about their neighbors. Another season lost in the playhouse.

And now, Spring teases us again. I have the chimes up, the purple wreath settled happily in a Florida condo, and the clubhouse is now home to a bright red wooden robin with propeller wings that spin in the wind, and flashy metallic duct tape ribbon has been attached to the wizened squirrel’s tail.

We’re set, people. Soon I will have the answer to the burning question:How many years does it take a gregorific to solve The Robin Riddle? ...2010, 2011, 2012, 2013…

No Bully Zone,~gregorific

Yup, I’ve heard of the The Migratory Bird Treaty Act, which makes it illegal for anyone to take, possess, import, export, transport, sell, purchase, barter, or offer for sale, purchase, or barter, any migratory bird, or the parts, nests, or eggs of such a bird.

And yup, I know, the birds have all the power. Hence my subordinate tiptoeing and years-long, passive plotting.